


the paint's supposed to go where?

by edgeofthewall



Series: bellarke tumblr prompts [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:51:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edgeofthewall/pseuds/edgeofthewall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>response to the tumblr prompt: "The paint's supposed to go <i>where</i>?!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the paint's supposed to go where?

"The paint’s supposed to go  _where_?”  
  


Clarke just looked at him, paintbrushes clutched in her hands like weapons, and he didn’t doubt that she could have him rendered immobile in seconds if he even thought about going back on his word.

"Honestly, Bellamy, what did you think I meant when I said I would be painting clothing onto you?"

” _You_  didn’t say anything!  _Octavia_  said that you would be painting clothing. As in painting articles of clothing that already exist, not painting my naked body so it looks like I’m wearing clothing.”

Clarke let out a little huff, obviously annoyed with him. Though they had Octavia in common, and as a result, the same circle of friends, Bellamy and Clarke had never found it easy to get along. Though their fights had calmed over the years that they’d known each other, since that day Bellamy had come home to find a thirteen year old Clarke drinking straight from his carton of milk (“Thanks for blessing us with your royal backwash, Blondie”), it would still be a stretch to call them friends.

Bellamy definitely didn’t think they were at  _this_  level, that was for damn sure.

"Bellamy, come on. I’m only painting your upper body. Octavia promised she would let me do this, but she cancelled last minute and you’re pretty much the only one I have left. And besides, it’s for a grade."

She knew him too well. As an aspiring professor, the quickest way to get Bellamy to agree to anything was to tell him it was for a grade, whether it was the truth or not. 

Sighing, Bellamy nodded as if someone had a grip on his hair, forcing him to do it against his will. “Fine. But if you even go near me with that glitter looking paint, I’m out.”

Smiling in a way that displayed just how pleased she was with herself, Clarke turned from him to prep her paint station as he took off his shirt. She seemed completely relaxed as she uncapped bottles, lined up paintbrushes by size, and flipped through her sketches until settling on the one she planned to imitate. Bellamy didn’t understand how she could be so comfortable with this, but as his shirt fell to the ground, the anxiety he expected to settle into the pit of his stomach never came.

Not even as she approached him with a brush that she’d dipped into a light blue that looked remarkably like her eyes and started to carefully paint across his chest. Not even as she dropped to her knees right in front of him to paint the illusion of the hem of a shirt at the line of his jeans. Not even as she got so close that her breath ghosted across his skin in time with the strokes of the brush.

The discomfort he expected never came.

Bellamy realized as Clarke painted a shirt onto his bare skin that he wouldn’t allow anyone else to do this, and that somewhere in the middle of the years of fighting and reluctant respect, he’d grown to trust his little sister’s best friend just as much as he trusted his little sister herself.

After what felt like minutes but had to have been at least three hours, Clarke stood, her face flushed from concentration, a streak of paint on her nose. She looked pleased, and her eyes showed that maybe she’d realized the same thing he did.

"Not bad. I think this is definitely B work, at least for my first try. Let me get my phone to take a picture."

Clarke moved to leave the living room to go to the kitchen where her phone sat on the counter, but Bellamy called out to her before she could get too far.

"Clarke?"

She stopped, turning back around. “Yeah?”

"Are you going to take this shirt off of me, too?"

Her answering smirk told Bellamy that yeah, she felt the same way, and yeah, she’d definitely noticed the way he’d tensed as she sunk to her knees in front of him.

"Of course. I wouldn’t leave the fun part to you."

**Author's Note:**

> i know these are all incredibly short, but i figured i'd give the ao3 crowd a peek at them! i hope you enjoy! if you'd like to send me prompts, you can do so at my tumblr, [here](http://octaviabae.tumblr.com)!


End file.
